𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐖𝐲𝐧𝐧

November 28, 2019

Dear Wynn,

There are a lot of things that I can't bring myself to do anymore now that you're gone.

I cannot go to the beach without thinking of how you used to dip your toes in the sand, and marvel at the seashells littering the floor. I can't watch the stars at night, recalling the way you used to make wishes on every star you saw. I can't even laugh before remembering the tinkling giggle you always had.

I don't think your death was ever properly treated by everyone. They never talked about what a bright person you were, never stopped to smile sadly as they thought of your vivacious and bubbly personality.

No, all they did to honour your memory was a funeral. It was a terrible funeral, certainly not worthy of what I thought you deserved. It was rather drab, and they barely bothered to dress up your body prettily at all. You wore only a dusty blue dress, an intricately woven pillow placed upon your chest and face.

I think it was to cover the blood. They never fully got rid of it.

I sometimes wonder if I'm the only one to miss you at all. My mother tells me to get over it, my father saying there's nothing I can do to help you.

At least your family misses you terribly. I can't remember the last time I've seen them smile. I thought they would have moved to a different place by now, but they haven't.

I've looked through my window frequently, the curtains to your window always open, never to be closed by you again. All your belongings are still there. Your parents haven't bothered to clean it up. Too many memories, they say.

I always reply that there can never be too many memories of you.

Love always,

Maia